


With Fire in her Eyes

by MagalaBee



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, NSFW in later chapters, Slow Burn, Spoilers, alfprim, i do so love this ship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:28:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22199392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagalaBee/pseuds/MagalaBee
Summary: From the moment he first saw her, he noticed the ice in her eyes and the fire in her heart. He knew that he wanted to help heal the broken things inside of her, but she kept dancing just out of reach.It wouldn't be easy to love a woman Primrose.
Relationships: Alfyn Greengrass & Everyone, Alfyn Greengrass & H'aanit, Alfyn Greengrass & Therion, Primrose Azelhart & Alfyn Greengrass, Primrose Azelhart & Everyone, Primrose Azelhart & Therion, Primrose Azelhart/Alfyn Greengrass
Comments: 12
Kudos: 35





	1. Sunshade

The dance hall was buzzing with noise. Back home, the local pub’s chattering and laughter seemed like a whisper compared to this. All around them, patrons drank and cheered and shouted. Some men tossed coins at the stage while they whistled obnoxiously at the dancers, all begging for a taste of what was under their skirts.

Alfyn didn’t like it. He stiffened where he sat and looked at Therion for some sense of direction. Therion didn’t seem to notice or care about their surroundings, though. This must be normal for a thief.

“We should leave—“ Alfyn whispered. “This ain’t my kinda scene.”

“You said you wanted to help people, right?” Therion asked with a shrug as he sipped from a glass that reeked of expensive, strong liquor. He’d probably swiped it off the bar. “There are plenty of people here in need of some kind of help.”

Alfyn wished he were more clever, then he might have the right words to come up with a retort, but the curtains shifted and a new dancer took the stage. She was the only woman wearing red, and the golden coins trickled like bells on her hips and ankles. The massive audience hooted and hollered, a few men shouting: “Primrose!” or “C’mere baby, just one night?”

She was beautiful… long waves of sable hair and a figure that could set anyone to blushing-- Alfyn already knew he was, he’d never seen women like the dancers in Sunshade before. But as beautiful as she was, her eyes looked distant. Clouded and wrong. They were a hazel shade of green of gold, but the woman herself was far away. The music began and her body moved in perfect time, but her heart had left her long ago.

The whole club seemed to quiet when she danced. Her hips rose and fell with the lilt of the desert flutes, and her feet followed percussive drum beats. Her body undulated like a flame swaying in a breeze, and as the music picked up in pace, slowly building to a crescendo, she moved faster and faster, catching fire beneath her heels.

Alfyn was transfixed, just like the rest of the patrons, as he watched her dance. Despite the distance in her eyes, there was something hot and wild and alive in her. He sucked in a breath when her eyes momentarily landed on him, and Alfyn felt his heart accelerate.

It lasted merely a fraction of a second, but he felt her gaze on him. Felt the cold and the heat at battle in her.

_ Who hurt you? _ he wondered.

As if she could hear that silent question, she spun away, hips rising into a fast shimmy as the music reached its climax. The coins on her belts became part of the music and when they all came to an abrupt halt with the last beat of the drums, the tavern exploded into sound once more. Applause from the audience went wild, and men were tossing her coins left and right, but the dancer ignored them. She blew a kiss to the masses and sauntered off stage again, her hips swaying heavy as she went.

“You still want to leave?” Therion asked, looking right at Alfyn, the sarcasm thick in his voice.

Alfyn sputtered. “I mean… Y-Yeah, a’course I do. She was awful pretty, but that’s not really th--”

“Pretty? Buddy, that’s  _ Primrose _ ,” another man commented, looking at Therion and Alfyn from the next table over. He seemed shocked and mildly offended that they hadn’t recognized the dancer in red. “You two don’t look like you got two gold to rub together, you could never afford her. She’s Helginish’s best girl.”

Alfyn’s brows pursed together, but Therion just commented: “Eh. I’ve seen better in Goldshore.”

“Excuse me?!”

The man at the other table had stood up and judging by the high red flush in his face, Alfyn knew that he was both angry and inebriated. A bad combination, since Therion seemed bound and determined to cause trouble. 

The young thief stood up, too, throwing back the last of his drink. He was dwarfed by the drunkard, but he didn’t seem to care, he just squared his shoulders as if to challenge him.

“You heard me.”

The other man grabbed Therion by the wide collar of his poncho, looming over him clumsily. “You insultin’ my fav’rite girl?”

“I’m just saying, if you’ve seen one whore, you’ve seen them all,” Therion commented, glib as ever.

Alfyn had to wonder if Therion had learned anything from the Ravus estate, but then he noticed Therion’s sticky fingers slipping a small coin purse out of the man’s pocket. He was too mad to realize he was being fleeced.

Great.

Alfyn stood up, trying to stand between them and cut the tension. “Hey, let’s take a breath, now. I think she was very n--”

He was cut off by the drunkard’s sloppy punch. One that Therion avoided with a duck of his head, which sent it right into Alfyn’s cheek. He stumbled back and Therion managed to get loose of the other man’s grip. While the apothecary was dazed, coddling his now severely aching jaw, Therion grabbed his tunic sleeve and dragged him quickly into the crowds of tavern goers.

“Wha’ are you doin’?!” Alfyn hissed. “We’re supposed to lay low!”

“We’re also as penniless as a street mouse,” Therion reminded him. “This just part of gathering travel funds.”

* * *

Therion’s quick movements had gotten them out of an all-out tavern brawl, but it had also made it impossible for them to go back to the dance hall. They’d be recognized from the skirmish and kicked out. While Alfyn was grateful that he didn’t have to go back to that place-- it was full of booze and noise and smoke-- part of him felt a disappointing tug in his chest.

The woman in red… Primrose. He kept thinking about her eyes, and how listless they were, even as she danced with more life and passion than he had ever seen. Albeit, Alfyn’s life had been small until his recent travels, but he still felt like there had been something special about her. The whole establishment had gone quiet to watch her dance, whether it be from lust or respect.

Alfyn sighed as he gingerly touched his jaw. It hurt, but a healing salve from his pack would keep the inflammation down. He’d have a bruise, but that was manageable. 

“Why did you call her that?” he muttered.

“Huh?” Therion grunted. He had settled into their place in the alley shadows, his poncho collar pulled up to hide half his face. 

“You called her a whore.”

Therion paused. “That’s what she is. They call them dancers because they’re expensive, but they’re still whores. What do you think they do when they’re off stage?”

Alfyn’s brows pursed together again. Clearbrook felt so small now. Small and sheltered. He’d never actually seen a prostitute before, only heard cautionary tales from others about the big city and the women of the night who tempted good young men to indulge. Their hamlet had been too small for a functioning brothel. 

Helgenish’s dancers were all dressed very provocatively and moved sexually, but Alfyn had innocently assumed it was part of artistry. 

Now he just felt stupid.

“Oh.”

Therion rolled his eyes. “You’ve got a lot to learn out here, greenie. The world’s full of whores and thieves and cutthroats.”

Alfyn pursed his lips together and leaned his head on his bent knee, looking out at the busy Sunshade street. The market square alone looked like it could hold the entire population of Clearbrook, but this was just one small corner of the vast city of cliffs and sand and harsh sun. Despite being in the middle of a desert, so many people had carved out a home for themselves here, living on artisanal goods and pleasure tourism.

Alfyn felt like he was being swallowed up by the sounds of the city, it made him miss the quiet of home.

Then, he saw a flash of deep, dark red. Alfyn sat up. It was the dancer. She wore a loose cloak over her shoulders, as some kind of signal that she was off duty, but some of the people she passed by still looked at her like hungry wolves. He caught a glimpse of her face as she wove between vendors and people, and the ice seemed to have shaken loose from her eyes. Now, they were pure fire. She had a knife in her hand.

Alfyn scrambled to stand up. “C’mon, Therion--” he blurted.

“What are you on about?”

“Hurry!” Alfyn shouted as he took off running through the market. He had to catch up with her. Without knowing why, something in him felt drawn to that woman of fire and ice. Therion followed, reluctantly, and Alfyn managed to keep the woman in his sights. She was moving urgently and almost panicked until she stopped short at the top of a stone stairway which led down into the ground beneath the city. Some kind of sewer or catacombs.

She whirled around when he came to a clumsy stop, and the fire in her looked dangerous. She held out the knife, ready to attack.

“Necks. Now.”

Therion sneered. “What kind of greeting is that?”

Alfyn didn’t know what was going on, but he pulled down his folded collar, baring his neck. Therion didn’t move.

Her knife trained to the thief. “Neck.  _ Now _ .”

“Why?” Therion snapped. “You don’t even know me.”

“Exactly,” she muttered. “Now show me your neck before I cut it.”

Therion’s eyes dragged incredulously to Alfyn, who silently pleaded for his traveling companion to do what she asked.

“...Fine,” Therion grumbled, pulling down his poncho to reveal an equally bare neck. “Happy now, you crazed bitch?”

Slowly, she lowered her knife, seemingly satisfied. “For now. Why were you following me?”

“Oh, u-uhm,” Alfyn stuttered. “I just… I saw you dance today.”

Her face contorted into disgust and fury.

Alfyn held up his hands, “No no! I didn’t mean it like that! I saw you earlier, and then again in the market, and you looked distressed, I just want to help!”

Therion shrugged. “I’m stuck with him for a while.”

She eyed them both like they were idiots or lunatics or idiotic lunatics, but she glanced between them and the stairs. After a pause of thought, she extended a hand-- no knife this time.

“Primrose Azelhart.”

Therion didn’t shake, but he nodded. “Just call me Therion.”

Alfyn, though, took her hand, his cheeks a bit pink from the sun as he did. He smiled and noticed how smooth her hand was. How beautiful she was up close.

“I’m Alfyn Greengrass.”


	2. The Road to Cobblestone

Primrose came back to their camp late. Again. Alfyn was on watch tonight, and after he’d noticed her nocturnal habits, he started timing her. Whenever they stopped in a small village or camped near a larger settlement of travelers, Primrose inevitably drifted into the darkness and came back with a good chunk of money.

It had been eating at him.

When her footsteps were close, Alfyn asked: “Why do you do it?” He looked up from the campfire at her.

Primrose hesitated before she turned to him. A large shawl was drawn over her shoulders, but she was wearing her dancer’s clothes underneath it. She had one other dress which was more common and modest, but Primrose had held onto her red outfit, saved for specific nights, like this.

“Why do I do what?” she asked, her voice sighing, lilting silk. She smiled at him, brushing her hair over one shoulder as she approached the small fire. Therion was asleep in his tent-- at least presumably. They were alone for this conversation.

“The… uhm…. You know,” he blushed and looked down. “I ain’t judging, I just… I thought you were free now.”

Primrose sighed and came to sit beside him, perching herself on the fallen log that had become their makeshift chairs. There were many large trees and stumps in the highlands. The road to Cobblestone was a long one, but they were almost there.

“I am free,” Primrose said, her voice still as melodious as ever, but laced slightly with the ice that lingered in her heart. Even with Helgenish dead and gone, Primrose still sometimes left this world. He could always see it in her eyes, when her heart went away. “But freedom means nothing without a way to support ourselves, and… no offense, Alfyn, but you haven’t been able to successfully market your apothecary abilities yet, and…”

She glanced at Therion’s tent.

“Well, we need a more legal means of sustaining ourselves,” she concluded. “This is what I’m good at.”

_That’s what she is._

Alfyn frowned. “You don’t have to, though. You can do what you want now!”

“I want revenge,” she reminded him, and the silken song had gone out of her voice. Hazel eyes were on him and he felt a shiver in his own spine. 

He should have expected that. She was on a mission for blood, no matter the costs to her well-being. Revenge was the fire that brought her to life. Alfyn nodded slightly and muttered, “Right. Sorry. I just meant that… you don’t have to sell yourself if you don’t want to. I… I’ll figure out a better way to contribute.”

Primrose didn’t take her eyes off of him, even though Alfyn was nervously looking at his feet now. She leaned in closer to him and placed a hand on his knee before she gently kissed his cheek.

“You’re sweet,” she told him with a smirk. Alfyn only had time to blink and blush before she stood up and pulled the shawl closer around herself. “Good night, medicine man.”

He gulped.

“Goodnight, Miss Primrose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is shorter than the first one, but I hope no one minds! This is just a transition chapter, showing the growing dynamic between Alfyn and Primrose as they get to know each other. If you like this and where it's going, then please leave Kudos and Comments!


	3. Rippletide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He thought about the last time she kissed him for weeks... until she did it again.

Alfyn thought about that kiss until they reached Rippletide. After Olberic joined their meager ranks, Primrose didn’t leave as often at night. Once, he had seen the swordsman talking to her. He didn’t know what words were exchanged, but Primrose seemed chafed and chastened after, and Alfyn noticed her nocturnal activity quieted to a whisper.

Rippletide was a new city, and one that Alfyn liked more than Sunshade. It was busy and noisy, but the sounds of marketplaces and people were cut by the sounds of the ocean tides and the sloshing of water in the canals. It reminded him of home, and when he closed his eyes and leaned over the foot bridges, he could pretend he was back in Clearbrook for just a few moments.

That was what had brought him out that night. Soon, he’d head back to the Colzione house for the night. After they’d helped Tressa in the cave, her parents refused to let them spend money on what her father called an “over-priced flea house.” They only had one night to spare in the city before they’d continue north, but it was nice to have a bit of peace.

Alfyn breathed in deep and slow through his nose as he listened to the water. It smelled salty, not like a river, but it was refreshing. 

“Get a load of this, huh, Ma?” he muttered to the night air.

“Would she be impressed, or disappointed?” Primrose asked, her voice turned to silk, like it always did after nightfall.

Figures that she’d happen upon him then, and wearing her dancer’s clothes, with her shawl wrapped around her once more for a pretend show of modesty. But she was smirking as she leaned against the bridge rail with him.

Her mole was turned up with her lips.

“Impressed, I think,” Alfyn chuckled, scratching at the base of his neck. “I’ve never seen the ocean before, y’know? I’ve come a long way from home.”

“Mmm... Do you like it here?”

“Sure,” he shrugged. “It’s a nice city. Lotsa people, but they all seem pretty nice. But maybe that’s just because Tressa’s such a sweet talker.”

Primrose let out a short chuckle. “She is a clever little thing.”

The air went still between them and Alfyn’s eyes strayed down the line of her figure. One of her legs was uncovered, the long slit of her skirt slipping off of it. Smooth, beautiful skin.

“Were you…  _ out _ tonight?” he asked, and his voice sounded sadder than he wanted it to.

“And if I was?” she asked, pinning him with a glance.

“Ain’t that a bit… frowned upon? What if the Colziones--”

“It was a sailor,” she told him. “He’s leaving port in the morning, so he isn’t going to talk. And by the time he’s back in six months or so, I’ll be long gone. No need to worry.”

Alfyn felt his heart sink. So she’d picked a sailor.

_ She’d pick anyone over you. _

He looked down at the water. It almost looked black in the night, like a winding path of molten midnight and stars. He wished he didn’t feel so foolish and meek in front of her. 

“I just… wish you didn’t have to do any of that,” he admitted. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“I think I’m allowed to decide what is and isn’t right for me, Alfyn.”

“No, I… I know that,” he stumbled to explain. “I ain’t trying to take that away, it’s just that you seem to be in a lot of pain sometimes, and I… I don’t know if this helps you or not.”

He was facing her now, having stood up off the bridge rail and met her eyes. They were brown tonight, shining like copper in the dim glow of street lanterns.

For a moment, Primrose said nothing. She only held his eyes captive, reading something in them. Alfyn opened his mouth, trying to say something, but he had embarrassed himself enough tonight, and he closed it again. 

That was when Primrose stood up tall on her toes and placed her lips over his. A soft, knowing gesture. Alfyn felt his cheeks flare up immediately, and he was all but too eager to kiss her back, even though he didn’t know how. But Primrose was well-practiced at this, and she placed one hand on his cheek, gently guiding his jaw. She showed him how to kiss, and he savored every languid second that she spent so close to him.

He nervously reached for her hip, and she pulled away.

“Someday, Alfyn, you’re going to make someone very happy,” she whispered with a smirk. “Whichever pretty young thing marries you will be quite lucky.”

Alfyn gulped and tried to find something to say in response to that. But all he managed to say was: “Huh?”

That made her laugh, and it sounded like bells. Primrose patted his cheek twice before she stepped away, heading back down the road towards the Colzione house.

“You’re cute, medicine man!” she called. “But you best not be late. Remember, Tressa’s mother gave us a curfew.”

He sputtered and glanced back at the water once more before he followed.

“The world’s a strange place, Ma.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thank you so much for reading! Please leave Kudos and Comments if you liked this chapter or want to ask any questions.
> 
> Also, special thanks to those of you who have helped me catch some typos and mistakes in the comments. I have since corrected those missteps and deleted any comments that were no longer relevant. Even though I removed some typo catches from comments, please know that I am still VERY VERY grateful for everyone who's caught them and it helping me to improve!
> 
> Thank you all so much, I hope you liked this chapter. The next one will be longer!


	4. Victor's Hollow

For weeks, Primrose had been made up of warmth and fire. She laughed and smiled and seemed so normal to Alfyn, that he forgot about the ice in her eyes. With eight people in their intrepid group now, she seemed to have fewer and fewer moments when her eyes glazed over and she left the world around her.

She was more beautiful this way, he thought, as he sat with her and Therion at the pub in Victor’s Hollow. 

“Been a while since there’s been just the three of us,” Primrose teased, sipping on her fifth flagon of ale. Therion sneered but he drank too. This time, he hadn’t had to steal it. With all eight of them contributing, they could afford honest accommodations.

Alfyn didn’t know if Primrose was still taking customers. She had gotten better at hiding it from him.

“I think it’s more interesting with the others,” Therion commented with a click of his tongue. “You idiots make for great distractions.”

Alfyn laughed at that. “Yeah, well I haven’t seen you steal anything in how long?”

Primrose grinned. “Oh,  _ at least _ since Tressa gave him a dressing down in Atlasdom!”

“Right! What was it she said?” Alfyn said, leaning a bit towards Primrose as Therion grimaced.

“Bull butter!” Primrose howled with laughter. “She called him a bull butter thief!”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Alfyn admitted, but he was laughing along with Primrose. Her joy was infectious.

Therion grunted, “It means bullshit. The twerp refuses to curse.”

Primrose broke into another round of delighted giggles, wrapping one arm around her middle as if she could hold herself together with just that. “Sh-Shitty!” she managed to say between laughs. “Tressa called you shitty!”

That such simple things was making them laugh, Alfyn knew that they were in their cups. Primrose was on her fifth and Alfyn on his third. Therion, at least, was still sober. He refused to ever be drunk. Alfyn tried to make a mental note about getting water for the table and maybe some bread.

“Shitty--” Alfyn snorted with laughter, immediately forgetting about the water in his own tipsy joy. 

“The word doesn’t get funnier the more you say it,” Therion grumbled and sipped his ale. “It just makes you look like drunk idiots.”

“Correction--” Primrose put a single index finger in the air. “It  _ does _ get funnier the more we say it. Right, Alfie?”

He shrugged and went along with her, “Shitty.”

Primrose giggled.

He said it again, “Shitty thief.”

Another giggle.

Before he could go for a third try, H’aanit, Ophilia, and Cyrus entered the pub, with Tressa racing in alongside them. She looked frantic as she slammed her hands down on their table. “Guys! You three won’t ever believe this!”

“What?” Therion snapped. Primrose, meanwhile, patted Tressa’s hand reassuringly while she finished her ale.

“It’s to do with Sir Olberic,” Cyrus cut in. “I must say, I wasn’t expecting this turn of events either, but it is quite entertaining, the more I consider it.”

“Get on with it,” Therion rolled his hand, encouraging the entourage to get to their own point. H’aanit, least talkative of them all, simply sat down beside Alfyn, with Linde curling up under the table. 

“Olberic’s entering the tournament!” Tressa declared.

“Oh, shit!” Primrose blurted. 

Alfyn broke into a roll of laughter.

Ophilia hovered and interjected, “I thought I should talk to the inn about extending our stay. It will take I think four rounds of fighting? We’ll need to stay for at least three more nights.”

“Better get cozy,” Tressa said with a grin. “We’re going to be in Victor’s Hollow for a while. Right after its finished, we can head to Quarrycrest with the other traveling merchants, it will be perfect timing!”

Maybe it was the ale, but Alfyn didn’t mind that. They hadn’t spent more than two nights somewhere in a while, and he liked the energy of this place. It was a town that seemed to be an ever-lasting festival, at least while the colosseum was holding a tournament. Staying here for a bit would be fun.

* * *

Surprising none of them, Olberic won the tournament. While it wasn’t exactly what he had come to Victor’s Hollow to do, he had impressed the entire colosseum with his skills. The other seven of them had been in the stands, cheering wildly. Even H’aanit had shouted along, while Therion and Tressa raked in a good big of spending money by convincing other audience members to take bets.

Each day, the buzz and excitement amongst their group grew. Ophilia had helped Alfyn put together a make-shift banner for his final match, cheering on the Unbending Blade, and after his victory, they had all ended up back at the same pub as before, cheering and singing victory songs with the rowdy hordes of other tourney fans.

“One more round for the Unbending Blade!” a small group of wealthy merchants declared, one of them gave Olberic a solid thump on his back. Olberic didn’t even flinch.

“Sir, please, I do not--” the former knight tried to insist against it, but it was no use.

“One more,” Therion jutted in with a sly smirk. “We could all use a drink, huh?”

“Yes! For the whole party!” the merchants agreed together. The barkeep was signaled and to the hooting songs of the full pub, more ale and hard cider were passed around. 

Alfyn knew he’d already had too much, but they were celebrating, and he figured that one more wouldn’t hurt. So he grabbed a stein of ale and began to drink again. His cheeks felt hot and flushed, every other word his friends said seemed funnier than the last, and the world felt soft around the edges.

He was thoroughly and completely foxed.

“Dance with us!” Ophilia chirped, tugging on Alfyn’s arm. Someone in the crowded place had brought a fiddle and was playing jaunty tunes. The locals knew the words, and tables had been pushed aside to create a makeshift dance floor.

The whole establishment was far too drunk for anything organized, so they had all devolved into hapless reels and swinging circles. Alfyn was too easily cajoled in his state, and despite his stumbling feet, he managed to jump into the pace Ophilia had set. Cyrus was twirling Tressa, putting his courtly dance lessons to good use and making the girl laugh. H’aanit had gotten the rhythm of the reel down well and was dancing arm-in-arm with two other young women.

Alfyn looked around at the soft, musical world around him, and he grinned as he hopped and slid and kicked his heels with the other pub goers. Ophilia tried to display a Frostlands jig, though she slipped and nearly fell on a puddle of spilled beer-- Olberic caught her. Therion refused to get up from his seat, claiming to enjoy the parade of fools before him.

Alfyn was inclined to agree-- they did look like fools-- until he found Primrose on the dancefloor. He’d seen her down as much alcohol as the rest of them tonight, but she was still as graceful as ever. 

She wasn’t dancing like she had in Sunshade, but her movements were still sensual. She spun and rolled her hips at the right beats, flickering from partner to partner to give everyone in the chaotic mass of jovial bodies a turn. She was in her common dress, seemingly a normal person with the rest of them, and she looked happy. Truly, deeply, happy.

Alfyn smiled like a blushing dope, and her eyes found him next. She smiled back, her cheeks ruddy with drink and exertion. She grabbed his hands and made him dance with her next.

“Yer beau’t’ful--” Alfyn blurted, his words slurred and swallowed up by the music and the singing and the banging on tables and stools.

“Huh?” she hadn’t heard him, but she laughed and prompted him to spin her around. He did, though a bit clumsily.

“I said… I think yer bea’t’ful!” he tried again, shouting this time. 

“You think I’m what?” she giggled, throwing her arms around his neck as they continued to dance. She pressed close to him, her breasts pushed up against his chest. She was probably just trying to hear him better.

“BEAUTIFUL!” he shouted, wrapping his arms around her waist as he did, to hold her close and relish the feeling.

As he did, the song stopped and suddenly his voice was too loud. Some of the townsfolk glanced their way and snickered at the pair. From the outside, they must look like love birds.

Primrose smirked and chuckled, leaning her head on his shoulder in the pause between wild songs. “Oh, Alfie~” she purred. “You’re sweet.”

He gulped and petted his hand over her head awkwardly. He wanted to be suave about it, but he was too drunk for fine motor skills. Alfyn questioned if he’d even remember this in the morning.

“I think we had t’much,” he muttered with a chuckle, the apothecary in him could only stay quiet for so long in the face of bad health decisions. Zeph would probably be entertained and disappointed to see how much he’d been drinking during the tournament revelry.

“Maybe,” Primrose agreed with another giggle. “I feel dizzy.”

“Lemme help,” Alfyn insisted on instinct, tightening his arms around her waist. “I’ll help y’get back t’the inn.”

And, much to Alfyn’s surprise, she agreed. Primrose laced her fingers with his and together they sifted through the rest of the tavern. He gave a quick wave to the others, letting H’aanit know that they were heading back for some sleep, and then they made their escape outside.

The air was crisp in Victor’s Hollow. It was northward enough to be cold this time of year, but not nearly as frigid as the Frostlands were. It smelled green, and Alfyn liked that. He liked the forest that surrounded this place, it made such a bustling town feel secret and small and safe.

He smiled at Primrose as they walked over cobbled streets. Most everyone in town was either in bed, or at one pub or another celebrating the exciting end to the tourney. Primrose wobbled a bit as they walked. It was funny how she had danced so seamlessly, and yet seemed to struggle with walking. Alfyn kept a hand at her back, and he told himself it was just in case she fell, but that wasn’t entirely true.

Alfyn liked being close to her.

As they approached the inn, Primrose stumbled into his side, possibly on purpose. She chuckled low under her breath. “Thanks for holding me up, med’cine man~”

“Always happy t’help,” he mumbled back with a smile, opening the door for her. They both made their way inside and the innkeeper gave them a lazy nod of welcome as they went upstairs. It was easier said than done, those stairs, and by the time they made it to the second floor, they were both giggling like children. 

“Olb’ric’s gonna be so disappointed in us,” Alfyn laughed, leaning on the wall beside his door as he caught his breath. “We’re druuuuuunk--”

Primrose grinned and stepped in closer. She seemed steadier on her feet when she was swaying her hips. She placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned against him, like she had when they were dancing. Only this time, it was just them, alone in the quiet.

“Mmmm… You’re cute, Alfyn,” she whispered. Primrose bent one knee, straddling him slightly as she pressed her body against his and ground her hips against his thigh. One of her hands strayed to play with his hair and the short strands at the back of his neck that fell out of his hair tie. Her other slid down his chest, straying slightly down his tunic. “Have I told you that?”

He gulped, his head feeling light and dizzy and hot. “Y-Yeah... “

“Good,” her lips pressed to his neck, parting slightly so the tip of her tongue could brush his skin. “Mmmm~” she hummed into his pulse, which had sped up so much that Alfyn couldn’t remember how to breathe.

“P-Prim…” he mumbled, one hand drifting to her hip as she rolled them against his upper thigh again. He heard her giggle slightly against his neck, and he knew that she felt the nervous arousal in his britches. “I, uh… I think--”

“Don’t think,” she whispered, her voice was heady and slow and made of rich, wine-soaked velvet, but something in that sensual tone sounded like pleading. “Don’t think, Alfie… You want me, don’t you? I can tell.”

His head was full of ale and lust.

“Y-Yeah…”

“Then touch me.”

He swallowed air again, trying to catch up to the moment, but his mind was working so slowly, and his hands were too clumsy. “I dunno how,” he admitted.

Primrose stopped then. Her body stilled and her lips pulled away. She looked up at his flushed face and her eyes slowly took in his words and his nervous expression.

“Oh…” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

She had realized something, and so she slowly removed herself from him. She patted his cheek twice and smiled a sleepy, apologetic smile. 

“I’m sorry, Alfie… I should’ve known.”

“Known what?” he asked, still feeling like he was a minute behind. “Prim?”

“We should both get some sleep, yeah?” she offered. “Sorry about this…”

“No, its ok--” Alfyn tried to reach for her again, but she turned and she walked down the hall, towards the room she shared with the other ladies in their team. She disappeared behind the door too quickly for him to react, but he remembered the sway of her sable hair right before it disappeared. The unruly waves were hypnotic.

Alfyn went into his own room, flopped onto the wrong bed, and dreamed of running his fingers through that sable hair.

* * *

By the time the Alfyn was waking up again, he couldn’t remember much of the night before. He recalled dancing and laughing and Primrose kissing his neck, but he didn’t remember the details of their moment in the hall. His head felt like it was splitting, and he regretted every drop of ale he’d had that night.

“Ugh…”

“Oh, finally up, huh?” Therion grunted. Alfyn looked around the room. Cyrus and Olberic seemed to have already gone down for breakfast. Alfyn realized he wasn’t in his bed.

“Sorry, Ther…”

The thief rolled his eyes. “This is your free pass. Next time, I push your drunk ass onto the floor.”

“Sounds fair enough,” Alfyn agreed, whimpering as bit as he rubbed fingers against his temples. “Is everyone else awake?”

“Almost. Tressa and Prim are still snoring.”

That was a relief. Alfn slowly got up and dragged his feet towards his own corner of the room. His whole body felt heavy as he rifled through his satchel and found the right herbs he was looking for. Mixed with a little water, he’d be ready to hit the road again in less than an hour.

“Alright,” Alfyn muttered. “Time to face the music.”

He and Therion went down together and sat at the table their friends had claimed. It was only meant to seat four, but they pulled spare chairs up enough to make it work. A cramped, but cozy eating space. Alfyn took his tonic and grimaced at the bitter taste of the herbs, then grabbed a few biscuits. He couldn’t stomach any eggs this morning.

“Art thou well?” H’aanit asked him. Linde was watching him. Her eyes were so big, it had scared him at first, but he was getting used to the snow leopard and her ways. 

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Alfyn chuckled. “Had a little too much, but… I’m good to go.”

Olberic sighed. “Yes, I fear everyone drank too much in my name.”

“Not I,” Cyrus declared as he scribbled detailed notes into his journal. “I only partook in a singular glass of the chianti. I learned my lesson with imbibing in my schooling days. You see, I found out that I get quite talkative when I’m intoxicated, and I would hardly wish to impose my verbosity upon you all.”

Therion let out a dry snort of laughter.

Ophilia was sneaking Linde extra pieces of bacon off her plate. “I’m sorry, Olberic, we should have all gone to bed early like Alfyn and Prim. We weren’t being very responsible.”

“The celebration of a battle well triumphed is n’ere to be regretted,” H’aanit said as she sipped a very strong smelling bergamot tea. “We hath pleased the Warbringer.”

“An enlightened mode of thinking,” Cyrus chuckled. “Do you suppose all the Gods are always watching the tourneys? Or only the living ones?”

Ophilia’s shoulders raised a bit. “I believe Aelfric is watching over us all.”

“Ah, yes, but he was sealed--”

Before the conversation could take a bad turn, Tressa came bounding down the steps with Primrose close behind her. The last two pieces to their puzzle. Alfyn smiled at Prim, a blush rising to his cheeks, but she didn’t look directly at him.

Did she even remember?

“Why didn’t anyone wake us up?!” Tressa blurted. “I was supposed to be up an hour ago, I was gonna talk to the merchant caravan! We’ll have to catch up to them now!”

“Thine face looketh too peaceful when thou sleeps,” H’aanit chuckled. “I had n’ere the heart to waken you.”

“Phili, you gotta get me up on time from now on, please?” Tressa begged the cleric.

Primrose found a seat at their haphazard table and poured herself some coffee. She still didn’t quite look at him and Alfyn felt a heavy stone begin to sink into his gut.

“At least we’re heading south today,” Tressa sighed. “On to Quarrycrest!”

“I’m not going south,” Primrose interjected, and Alfyn felt a shiver go down his spine. She sounded like ice again, for the first time in months.

The whole table looked at her, in varying degrees of concern. Tressa looked hurt. 

“But, Prim, I was going to get you a good deal on some jewelry in Quarrycrest, remember?” Tressa pouted. “Of course we’re going south, we all agreed--”

“You all can go if you like, but I have business in Stillsnow,” she spoke in a clipped voice. “Feel free to go on without me, I’ll catch up to you later.”

“That’s not how we do things,” Olberic grunted.

“He’s right, Prim, we stick together,” Ophilia insisted. “And we  _ did _ all agree…”

“I didn’t agree to anything,” Primrose snapped, closing her eyes as her lips pursed together into a long, thin line. “You all agreed, but I didn’t say a word. I can’t afford to spend weeks upon weeks going in the opposite direction for some discount jewels, or whatever it is they mine down there. I have a lead, and I won’t let the Left-Hand get away again.”

While she hadn’t raised her voice, Primrose spoke with firm, sharp sentences. She left no room for argument, her words like knives at their throats. Alfyn felt that stone sink deeper into his belly, a well of sadness opening up.

_ I don’t know how to help you. _

Ophilia cautiously reached out a hand to place over Primrose’s, and she smiled a soft, reassuring smile. “Alright,” she agreed in a soft voice. “We’ll go to Stillsnow first. I’m sure Tressa won’t mind.”

“Y-Yeah, it’s… it’s fine,” Tressa agreed. 

The others all began to nod and agree in murmurs, but Alfyn didn’t speak. Therion didn’t either, and when Alfyn turned his head, he found that the thief was looking right at him, pinning him down with a glance.

This isn’t a good idea, he seemed to be saying.

I know, Alfyn thought in return.

Revenge would only tear her apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, a longer chapter! The next one will be longer too, but I'm still writing it, so I appreciate everyone's patience. 
> 
> As always, if you're enjoying this fic, then please leave Kudos and Comments!


	5. Stillsnow

The winters in Clearbrook always involved snow, but the further north they trekked in the Frostlands, Alfyn had a new understanding of what it meant to be cold. Flamesgrace had been freezing on its own, but Stillsnow was a new kind of frigid. The town was a tiny spit of a place, made up of ice and cautious glances and the overhanging shadow of something that lurked in the woods.

Alfyn let out a breath and watched the cloud of it disperse.

“I think we should go in there,” he muttered. “It’s been too long.”

“Prithee waiten,” H’aanit said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “She be entitled to her privacy.”

“She said she knew that woman,” Ophilia agreed, smiling up at Alfyn from where she crouched in the snow. Her clerical cloak had the small hood pulled up, to help keep snow out of her hair and Linde was on her belly, graciously receiving scratching from the young priestess. “It’s been a long time… they just have a lot to catch up on.”

Alfyn chewed his bottom lip. “I still don’t like it.”

“Olberic and Therion be watching the back,” H’aanit reminded him, leveling a gaze that told him to settle his own hackles before he did something stupid. “Tressa and Cryus a shouten away. Still thyself, Alfyn.”

He knew she was right, that was the worst part. H’aanit was always right, and she made his own rash behavior all the more obvious. But something just didn’t sit well with him. Primrose had been in that poor excuse of an inn with Arianna for some time, and he still didn’t understand how they knew each other.

Arianna had been shocked to learn Primrose was a prostitute, but… so was she. They were both of the same profession. Why was it shocking?

It made him wonder what their lives had been before this. Had Primrose been Arianna’s neighbor? Arianna was older, maybe she had been a babysitter? Or just random acquaintances? But how had they met when one lived in the Frostlands and the other had been in the Sunlands?

It made him realize how little he knew about Primrose.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Ophilia offered. She was standing now, Linde done with belly rubs and now sitting peacefully in the snow. Ophilia came to stand on his other side, a sympathetic smile on her face. “You look very contemplative.”

“It’s just… this revenge business leaves me feelin’ sour,” he admitted in a hushed voice so that only H’aanit and Ophilia would hear him. “I know why Prim needs to do this, but it feels wrong t’me. Feels like she’s just gonna…”

“I understand,” Ophilia assured him. “It’s hard to see a friend get hurt.”

He sighed. “Yeah.”

“We can’t stop her from doing this, though… Like you said, she needs it,” Ophilia reminded him. “All we can do is be there for her in case she falls.”

H’aanit nodded solemnly. Had she felt the same kind of inevitability with her missing master? Alfyn wondered if H’aanit, who seemed ever calm and all knowing in his eyes, had seen the tragedy on the horizon and faced it with grace. Or if she felt as scared and helpless and he did right now.

“Thanks, Ophilia,” he said.

She smiled a bit softer then. “May the Gods give us strength to change the things we can… and accept the things we cannot.”

The door of the rundown inn opened, and Primrose stepped back out into the snow, her cloak wrapped tight around her. Arianna was beside her, looking concerned, but Primrose was composed. She was at one with the harsh environment, covered in ice again.

He gulped.

“Where are the others?” she asked. “We need to talk. There’s a carriage on its way.”

* * *

By the end of it, only about half of them had gone to the Obsidian Parlor. Stealth was key, and Primrose didn’t want to let her opportunity get ruined by too many people underfoot. Tressa was left behind given how young she was, Olberic and Ophilia had stayed with her to make sure no one tried to “recruit” a new girl for the massive brothel.

Therion and H’aanit had then gone the long way, staking out the surrounding grounds of the Obsidian Parlor to help Primrose sneak in the back. Alfyn and Cyrus were inside, acting as ‘clients’ to help justify why they had arrived with Arianna in the first place.

While Stillsnow felt too cold, the brothel was too warm. It was a massive, sprawling place with ornate high ceilings and curving staircases. The foyer was decorated with velvet drapery and immaculately carved statues of naked women. It was an undeniably sensual atmosphere, but that only made Alfyn feel more uncomfortable.

Women were dressed in tight bodices with low necklines. They weren’t dressed like Sunshade’s dancers, but the way their skirts were pinned up to expose their thighs was its own kind of temptation that made Alfyn flush up to his ears as he sipped on a cup of mead. Only one, he had promised himself, to help sell their clumsy act.

“How are you so relaxed right now?” he whispered to Cyrus. They sat side by side at the large bar which occupied one of the receiving rooms of the brothel’s first floor. Overstuffed armchairs and chaise lounges riddled the rest of the room, with low candlelight, casting a dim glow over the room. Women were talking to their clients in hushed voices. Some of them flirting with new customers, others perched in the laps of their regulars. Three had already approached Cyrus, but Alfyn had been keeping his head ducked to go unnoticed. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Cyrus chuckled, sipping his own elegant little glass of port. “We’re just here to chat, aren’t we?”

He had chatted away every woman who had tried to offer him services, by explaining to them the old Swarki’i influences in the building’s architecture. Alfyn, on the other hand, was an easier target. He didn’t look as handsome or wealthy as the professor, but he looked meek and vulnerable.

A woman sauntered up to him, her hips swaying-- not like Prim’s did, though, this woman seemed to wobble a bit in her high-heeled shoes. 

“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting,” she began, with half-lidded eyes and a rouge-tinted smile on her lips. She looked soft and warm, with waves of red hair and a smattering of cinnamon colored freckles over her cheeks. Her breasts were pushed high and together by her corset, creating a very ample curve of cleavage that Alfyn struggled not to make direct eye contact with.

“U-Uhm… heh, nah, I’m uh…” he mumbled. “Alfyn.”

“Alfyn? What a cute name,” she commented with a grin and a giggle. She leaned in closer, hips first, and batted her lashes at him. “Let me guess, Alfyn… this is your first time here, isn’t it?”

“Yes ma’am,” he admitted, wondering in his head how much longer he and Cyrus would be playing decoys. Therion was supposed to somehow appear and signal them when they’d found a way in. “It’s my first time at a b-brothel, actually.”

This seemed to delight her, much in the same way Primrose has teased him for his blushes on the long ride up. 

“Awww~” she cooed, slipping an arm around his shoulders. “Well don’t you worry, Alfyn. I’m Molly, I’ll help you find your way.”

“I’m n-not lost, ma’am?” he gulped and she giggled.

“You really are new to this, aren’t you?” she asked.

“...That obvious?” he muttered into his mead.

Her smile softened a bit, but Alfyn noticed that there was a detachment in her eyes. Molly wasn’t all here. She was going through the motions and might very well think he was cute, but… her heart had left. Just like Prim’s did, from time to time.

“It’s alright,” she assured him. “A lot of us like virgins.”

He almost dropped his stein. “Uhm--!”

“I’m being honest,” Molly chuckled. She wasn’t giggling anymore, this time, it felt more sincere. “Virgins are usually sweeter, and I actually enjoy teaching young men like you about their bodies. It’s not quite so crass as the regular men, but don’t tell them I said that.”

She winked and Alfyn wasn’t sure if she was lying to him or not. Either way, it felt nice to hear that his inexperience didn’t have to be a bad thing.

“Heh… thanks, Miss Molly.”

“See? I like that. Miss Molly,” she smirked. “So, Alfyn, would you like to learn a thing or two about how to please a woman from Miss Molly~?”

His face grew a darker shade of pink. “Oh no, I… uh… I can’t,” he stumbled through his words. “You’re real nice and everything, and really pretty, I just… I uh…”

Molly cocked her head to one side and peered at him. He felt like his face must have his own guilt written all over it. She would be able to tell that he wasn’t really here for the brothel. That this was all a hastily planned trick and he’d be thrown out, unable to help Primrose and stuck in that unforgiving cold.

But instead, she said, “Ah, I see. You’ve got a lass, don’t you? Someone back home you’re hung up on?”

Alfyn felt his pulse skipping anxiously in his chest. “S-Something like that.”

“Your friend over there brought you, huh?” she nodded her head at Cyrus who was chatting up his fourth prostitute about vaulted ceilings and historical significance of the crested valance. “To give you a splendid first time?”

“Yes,” he blurted, not knowing any other good lie to give her.

“Well, that’s alright, Alfyn,” she murmured in an almost maternal kind of way. “It’s natural to be nervous. But if you’re worried about betraying your sweet lass, then you don’t have to think of it as your first time at all. This is just practice. It’s educational, right? So then when you marry that sweetheart of yours, you’ll know exactly how to make her wedding night special.”

Alfyn felt a little bit nauseous. He put the mead down and glanced at Cyrus. He was still boring the poor woman next to him.

“Uhm… I’m not sure,” Alfyn gulped again, his shoulders tensing. The warmth of the brothel began to feel stifling.

“Shush, shush,” she cooed, leaning against his shoulder. “Trust me, Alfyn, Miss Molly will take good care of--”

Alfyn saw a quick flash of purple. Therion, against all odds, came quickly down the stairs and turned into the receiving room. How he had gotten up stairs in the first place, Alfyn wasn’t sure, but he waved two fingers quickly at them, a gesture that was unmistakable.

In one hurried motion, Alfyn stood up, grabbed Cyrus’s arm, and bolted. He didn’t even bother trying to make excuses with Molly, just rushed to Therion, who led them through a hidden wall panel.

“You two looked like you were having a good time,” the thief snorted.

Alfyn asked in a hurry, “Is Prim alright?”

“Have you discovered the object of our scheme?” Cyrus added.

“Yes and yes,” Therion answered. “But maybe not for long. You know how she is.”

Alfyn felt his stomach drop. “She found him.”

“H’aanit’s been holding her back, but I wouldn’t be surprised if--”

Therion opened the other end of the passageway, looking onto the shadowed edges of a grand room. It was long and resembled the throne room of Atlasdom, only instead of a king, there was a burly man on the seat of power. He wore black, with his sleeves rolled up and a clear tattoo of an inky black bird on one forearm. 

He was listening to an old priest saying something about his dead daughter. Alfyn didn’t know what was going on, but the man in black snapped his fingers and made an offer--

“I’ll give you a new pretty little daughter. For you to do with as you please.”

Alfyn tensed. Therion kept a hand on his shoulder to still him. They had to stay where they were, unseen as long as possible.

A woman came through another wall passage, one that Alfyn recognize. Arianna walked with her head down, summoned by the man in black. Her steps were small and she was dressed similarly to the women in the receiving room, but her skirts were left down, hanging by her ankles. She had a solemn air about her and Alfyn wanted to run out there and stop whatever nefarious act was about to happen.

But Arianna hadn’t been alone in that passage. He saw Primrose and H’aanit in the same alcove, a glint of silver off of Primrose’s dagger. Even across the room, Alfyn could tell that Primrose was fire once more. Rage burning through her. It was probably everything she had in her not to run at the man in black and plunge that knife into his chest, but even Alfyn realized how foolish that would be. He had guards in the room, they’d kill her before she got close enough.

That, he realized, was why he was there. Why Cyrus and H’aanit and Therion were here. To occupy the guards and give her a clear path.

Arianna was handed over to the priest and after they left the room. There was a pause of silence.

“Any others?” the man in black grunted impatiently.

“I believe there was one more seeking a private audience, Master Rufus. One of the girls,” a guard answered.

“Eh, then she can wait a bit longer,” he muttered. “Get me some coffee.”

One guard left the room. This was their moment. Therion nodded at H’aanit from across the room and she nodded back. “Come on,” he hissed before rushing out of the shadows. At the same time, H’aanit loosed and arrow into one guard’s shoulder. He screamed and the others drew swords. 

Rufus began shouting directions, but Cyrus summoned a wall of ice to cut off two of the guards from going to protect their employer. Therion set upon one, nimbly dodging and rolling beneath his strikes before he quickly stuck a knife in the man’s side and watched him crumple to the ground.

Alfyn had to deal with the other, though his stomach turned at the idea of having to kill him. So far in their travels, they had fought aggressive beasts and monsters and bandits, but he had always managed to avoid actually killing another human being. 

The guard swung his sword and Alfyn stumbled to try and avoid the hit. His ax was cumbersome and heavy and he swung wildly, but the other man was quicker and managed to avoid it. He slashed again and got Alfyn’s arm. A small wound, but enough to make Alfyn flinch and give the other guard an opening. He tried to stab Alfyn, but before he did, Therion ducked under his sword and put his knife into the man’s gut.

Looking over his shoulder, Therion caught Alfyn’s gaze. It was a tense, solemn look split between understanding and frustration.

“Oh, don’t tell me you don’t remember,” Primrose laughed. Her voice was off by half a pitch. Alfyn scrambled toward the throne, pressing his palm against his bleeding arm as it stung. H’aanit was standing near to Primrose, her arrow knocked and aimed at Rufus, to keep him from making a move.

“What are you on about?” Rufus grunted. “Fucking whore, did you hire mercenaries?!”

Primrose laughed again, her knife held out towards him as she got closer. “You really don’t recognize me do you? Well… that’s alright. I suppose it has been ten years.”

Alfyn’s blood felt cold. This wasn’t something he was supposed to overhear, and it stopped him in his steps. He looked at H’aanit, worried. She glanced back, but he couldn’t read her expression.

There was a tension on Rufus’s face. Dawning realization sank in. “Gods… You’re the Azelhart girl.”

“You should have killed me when you had the chance,” Primrose declared, her voice was calm and deadly as ice. Before any of them could have stopped her, she shoved the dagger into his neck. He sputtered blood in his last breaths, and a river of red ran down his body, falling to the throne and the floor. Alfyn was afraid to move. 

Slowly, Primrose pulled her dagger back out. Her hand was just as bloody as its blade. She turned and walked back to the rest of them. H’aanit lowered her bow. Cyrus dismissed his wall of ice and offered Primrose a handkerchief to clean herself with. 

Alfyn turned towards her and took a deep breath. He walked to her side.

“Prim?”

“Yes?” her voice was smooth and sedate. Calm. Pleased. When she looked at him, she was completely gone. Absent from her body. He could see nothing behind her eyes.

“We should go,” he offered. “We don’t wanna be caught here with this, do we?”

“I’ll procure the returning carriage,” Cyrus offered, his usual cheerful tone had dropped to a more solemn one, and he suddenly seemed to resemble the professor who had led and taught young students for years.

Primrose nodded then looked at Therion. “Did you…?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, pulling a small group of folded papers out of his purple cloak. “His office is upstairs. Looks like he’s kept regular correspondence with some guy named Albus in Noblecourt.”

She took the papers but Alfyn noticed the way her shoulders tensed up.

“Right… let’s go,” she stated, flat and empty. 

H’aanit offered Primrose an extra layer to pull over her shoulders and they all set off through the hidden passageway in the wall. In silence, they circled around the outside of the sprawling brothel and came to the front, where Cyrus waited with the carriage that had brought them, a sizeable purse of gold being handed over.

“There we are,” he nodded, counting them all like ducklings as they filed in to sit. “Let’s get ourselves back to our inn for the night. I’m sure Miss Ophilia will have tea ready for us.”

The ride back felt longer than the ride there. Alfyn’s mind kept turning, just like the carriage wheels. He had known that Primrose was seeking revenge for her parents, but he hadn’t known that they died ten years ago. She so rarely revealed anything about her past.

She had been alone all this time, waiting and seething. He watched her as the horses pulled them on. She looked so small beneath H’aanit’s fur cloak, her hands still stained by blood. Her eyes were still vacant, but she was smiling as she leaned against the window. Staring into the cold wilderness peacefully.

Not knowing what else to do, he reached out and held onto one of her hands. Her fingers squeezed around his in return. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, I took some creative liberty with the blocking and dialogue, inventing new action to create my own course of events outside the game's mechanics. Hope it makes for a fun read!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! I'm still writing chapter 6 now, so please have some patience while I work on the next chapters, and if you like what I'm doing with this, please leave Kudos and comments!!


	6. Quarrycrest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE: that this chapter has some mild NSFW in the middle. It's nothing too raunchy, but if you'd rather not read it, then you can skim past it or just skip this chapter entirely, it is your choice.
> 
> But, with that being said, I hope everyone enjoys this! If you like reading this fic, then please leave Kudos and Comments!

Alfyn turned the glowing stone over in his hands. The shimmer in it seemed to shift in the light, almost like little clouds of light were inside it, drifting slowly with the wind. They were beautiful, and Alfyn couldn’t help but smile as he examined Tressa’s bounty.

“No wonder the locals call them skystones,” he chuckled. “Tress, these are sure to sell out quick!”

“They better,” Tressa grinned. “I’ve spent all day gathering my wares… I might have missed the caravan, but there’s a market!”

Her positive attitude was infectious. Even after weeks of trekking from Stillsnow to Quarrycrest, it wasn’t until they got here that the air started to feel peaceful again. It was summer now, and Alfyn found it strange to consider how long he had been away from home. Almost a year now. He needed to write Zeph another letter.

“Alright, well I’m gonna go see about the inn rates for an extended stay,” Alfyn told her, gently placing the skystone back down on Tressa’s makeshift storefront. It was little more than a blanket and some signs, but they were hers. Alfyn admired the pride that Tressa had in herself. 

“Remember to haggle!” she insisted as Alfyn turned to leave. He waved a hand behind him in confirmation.

The summer market in Quarrycrest would last three more days, and they planned to stay for all of it. Cyrus was investigating something here as well, rumors of strange disappearances. The town was an odd place, simultaneously a lively city, like Rippletide, and a solemn place, like Stillsnow. But that must be how a gold rush town would always be. On the brink of immense hope and endless disappointment.

The red dirt of the town covered Alfyn’s boots as he made his way through the streets. It was such a high up place, he had to avoid getting too close to an edge. Looking over the side made him feel nauseous, but other than that, he enjoyed the dancing breezes of Quarrycrest. The wind whistled pleasantly, and it felt freeing.

As he approached the inn, Alfyn saw Primrose outside of it. She was leaning against the railing, over the edge slightly and looking down at the vast, cavernous fall below. For a moment, he panicked. 

Since the Obsidian Parlor, Primrose had been behaving oddly. Some days, she had been calm and smiling and good-natured. Other times, she was completely detached and stared at the horizon as they all walked without ever saying a word. And every now and then, she was short-tempered and angry, snapping at anyone who tried to ask her how she slept.

Alfyn couldn’t tell what mood had overtaken her when he reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. He only knew that the sight of her so close to the cliff’s edge terrified him.

“Prim--”

She turned and blinked, eyes green and placid. She was calm today, present. A smirk quirked her lips and that beauty mark lifted with it. “You look like you ran five miles.”

“Sorry, I uh…” he gulped, letting his hand drop away. “A stiff breeze could have tipped you right over.”

Primrose pointed down the red stone ledge. Alfyn shuddered to look, but he glanced and saw a small patch of dry grass sprouting from a tiny outcropping on the cliff, with an orange Painted Lady flower blooming. A common yellow butterfly was fluttering around it.

“It’s so dry up here, not much grows, but… life finds a way,” Primrose commented. “It’s pretty.”

Alfyn smiled too as he cautiously stepped away from the railing. “Heh… Well look at that.”

“Tressa all set up for her sales?” Primrose asked.

“Yep!”

“And I take it our dear professor is off chasing whatever urban legends have to do with that book of his?”

“...Somethin’ like that,” Alfyn chuckled.

Primrose nodded. “So how many days will we be here?”

“Probably one or two more,” he said with a small shrug. “I was gonna talk to the innkeeper about extending our stay. It shouldn’t be too expensive with just the four of us.”

Therion, H’aanit, Olberic, and Ophilia had splintered off from the rest of their group. The thief had business in Noblecourt, and Primrose had refused to go, not yet ready to face what waited for her there. Instead, they had all agreed to split up and meet back in Saintsbridge soon. Ophilia had a flame to light there.

Primrose clicked her tongue. “I can talk to him. I think he’ll give me a good deal,” she teased with a quick wink, but that only made a heavy stone drop in Alfyn’s stomach.

“Don’t--” he blurted, then looked away for a moment. “I was going to... Tress has been teachin’ me how to barter.”

Primrose examined him a moment. “...Alright. Go make us a deal, then”

There was an unspoken tension in their silence. Something that neither of them was saying, but Alfyn felt his lungs fill with air and a long sigh left him nonetheless. He didn’t want her to sell herself again. 

_ Selfish, you know you are. She doesn’t want you, stop wishing for something you can’t have. _

Alfyn nodded and smiled. “Just gimme a few minutes, I’ll go talk to him.”

He turned and walked around to the front of the inn, feeling nervous. He could tell that Primrose was watching him walk away, but she didn’t follow him. 

The inn’s entry was stained by red-clay dust, as most things in the Clifflands were. Alfyn knocked lightly on the counter to get the innkeeper’s attention. He smiled and said, “Say, my friends I gotta stay in town a little longer than we thought. Anyway we can get a deal on extending our stay?”

The innkeeper frowned. “No bartering. 100 leaves per night or you all can go camp on the cliffs.”

Alfyn felt something tighten in his stomach. He wasn’t Tressa.

“S-Sure,” he nodded and chuckled, trying to smooth things over. “Here, I’ll pay up front for myself and my friends.”

And he opened his satchel, beginning to count out what he owed. Four rooms, two extra nights… 800 leaves in total.

He only had 812 in his possession. He’d been saving all he could from the beginning.

Alfyn gulped then grinned and handed over nearly all of his money. The innkeeper nodded and smiled back, unaware of the situation at hand. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Yeah, me too,” Alfyn scratched the back of his neck nervously before he went back outside. Primrose was waiting for him not too far from the entrance. She’d been watching Tressa hock her wares at the market, and was smiling again.

That made it easier. She could keep on smiling.

Alfyn came to stand next to her.

“How’s she doing out there?” he asked.

“Brilliantly, as usual. I’m beginning to think there’s nothing young Colzione can’t do,” Primrose answered. She paused then added, “How did it go with the innkeeper?”

“Perfectly fine, got us our longer stay no sweat,” he assured her. “Ol’ Alfyn’s gotten it all taken care of.”

* * *

When the sun went down in Quarrycrest, it was like someone snuffed out a candle. With the heavy hanging shadows of the surrounding cliff faces and mountains, after the sun dipped behind the scenery, the whole city was covered in darkness. Lanterns went on quickly and they all gathered again. Tressa, having sold out of almost every skystone she had, and Cyrus with more questions than answers in his investigation.

“You’re not eating,” Primrose mentioned. The four of them were finishing up dinner. Cyrus was recounting every detail of his discussions with Odette, and Tressa was hurrying to finish her own meal so that she could go to her room and start balancing her account book.

“Huh?” he looked at her and blinked.

Primrose gestured to the empty space at his corner of their table. No plate.

“I already ate,” he lied with a smile. The meager 12 leaves were burning in his pocket. 

Primrose said nothing, but she peered at him. He hoped that she didn’t suspect about their rooms.

After Tressa inhaled her bread and stew, she gave a hurried goodbye and darted to her room. “I’ve gotta be up early to get more stones, goodnight!”

“Such an energetic child,” Cyrus chuckled, almost done with his own dish. “I should retire, too. I’ve many notes I need to sort through concerning these disappearances. I think I’m narrowing down the sequence of events, but I need to delve into the sewers tomorrow.”

“Just be careful, professor,” Primrose hummed. “You don’t want to get in over your head.”

“Oh, pish,” Cyrus chuckled. “I’m perfectly safe, I assure you. A mage of my skill will be fine. But I do thank you for the concern, Miss Primrose.”

When he drifted upstairs too, it was just the two of them. Primrose had only eaten half of her dinner-- she only ever ate half of any meal and Alfyn wondered why. Part of him wanted to reach over and finish what she couldn’t, but if he did, then he’d give his own hunger away. He didn’t want her to suspect. He didn’t want her to use her body to get any of his money back.

There was a silence that stretched between them for several minutes. Alfyn sipped water and Primrose looked out at the rest of the pub. People chatting and eating and drinking. It wasn’t as noisy or rowdy as Victor’s Hollow had been. This was a small place in a small town. Peaceful in its mundane routines.

“Just eat it,” Primrose said suddenly, sliding her unfinished plate to him. Alfyn opened his mouth to say something, but when he looked at her face, he didn’t know what to say. She was stoic and blank. 

Primrose was gone away again, to wherever it was that her heart and mind went. 

“I’m fine, I don’t--”

“Just eat it,” she repeated. “I know you’re hungry. I know you paid for our rooms out of pocket.”

Alfyn felt his stomach sink. “...How did you find out?”

“I asked the innkeeper what the price was,” she shrugged. “I wanted to see what kind of deal you were able to strike.” Primrose tilted her head and the stoicism was gone again. She was back. The quickest return Alfyn had ever seen from her.

It made his cheeks flush.

“You’re not very good at making deals, are you?” she asked, her voice soft.

“...Nah,” Alfyn admitted, taking a bite of Primrose’s leftovers. The curried stew was delicious, savory and thick with chickpeas at the bottom. His stomach gurgled, pleased to be eating again. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Alfyn,” Primrose murmured. She took a sip from his glass of water. “You like taking care of people, don’t you?”

“That’s what an apothecary does,” he answered. With a few more big bites, he was almost done with the half-plate Primrose had offered him. It would be enough to get him through to the morning. He’d try to figure out a bit of medicine selling in the market tomorrow to get some more food money.

“You should let other people take care of you sometimes,” she mentioned. Alfyn wasn’t sure what she meant by that.

“Well... I’ll be fine by tomorrow,” he promised. “Thanks, Prim.”

She didn’t say anything else while he finished eating. When he was done, they both rose and climbed the stairs of the inn. Primrose followed behind him, all the way to the end of the hall. On one side was his room, on the other, her own.

“I can take care of you,” she mentioned over her shoulder, in a voice that was hushed just enough so that only he could hear her.

Alfyn looked at her, pausing in the open doorway to his room. She was leaning against her door, looking at him with half-lidded eyes he couldn’t read.

“You already did,” he assured her. “I promise, that’s enough food for me. I’ll get by.”

“I don’t mean the food, Alfyn.”

He stared at her, silent and blushing. 

Primrose pushed herself off of her door and stepped to him, leaning in close to his personal space. “I know you like me,” she told him, in a voice swathed in satin and silk. “I can tell when a man is thinking about me.”

“I’m s-sorry, I didn’t mean for--” he stammered.

“It’s alright to think about me, Alfyn,” she interrupted. A small piece of him felt relieved to have her permission. Primrose brought a hand up to trace the line of his jaw with her knuckle. She smirked. “I wasn’t just teasing you when I said you don’t need a brothel to spend time with a beautiful woman.”

Despite how nervous he was, Alfyn found it easier to breathe. It had been an unwritten rule not to discuss Stillsnow around her. But she was still present, still smirking, and he wasn’t shying away, even though a scared part of his heart screamed to run.

“I don’t wanna be like your clients,” he whispered.

“This isn’t like that,” she chuckled.

Alfyn wanted to ask what it would be, then, but he didn’t. He stepped backwards, into his room, and he let her follow him. The door closed and in only a few more steps, Alfyn was stumbling back onto his bed, Primrose draping herself gracefully on his lap.

She was always so graceful. So beautiful.

_ Please let me take care of you, _ he begged silently.  _ Please, Prim. _

His hands were shaking when he kissed her. Alfyn wished that he was drunk again, like the night that he couldn’t remember in Victor’s Hollow. But even as he clumsily mashed his lips against hers, Primrose smiled and giggled against him, pulling back and taking his wrists.

“Woah there… slow down,” she instructed. “Let me show you.”

Smooth and soft, she led his hands to her hips, patting the backs of his knuckles to make the slight tremble settle. “You hold on here,” she continued before she slipped one arm around his shoulder and leaned in. “And kissing is not just slamming against someone as hard as you can, alright?”

“S-Sorry, I’m uh…”

“I know,” her fingers drifted up to play with the short curls of blond at the back of his head which had fallen loose from his hair tie. “It’s alright. This is why I’m going to teach you.”

Alfyn just gulped. His whole face must look like a tomato. He could feel his palms getting sweaty and prayed that she couldn’t feel it through the linen of her clothes.

“Now, pay attention to what I’m about to do,” she murmured. “Kissing is a subtle act. Less is often more, and everyone likes a soft kiss.” To prove her point, Primrose leaned in and kissed him. She was tender and gentle, with her lips pursing slightly against his, but never pushing. Her lips were parted every so slightly to let a tiny breath escape from her and brush over his skin.

Alfyn felt his heart clench. His hands gripped instinctively at her hips, craving something he couldn’t put a word to.

As she pulled away, he couldn’t even remember his name, nonetheless what he was supposed to be paying attention to in her kiss.

“You always leave them wanting more,” she explained. “Then, there will always be a reason to have another.”

Alfyn was staring at her. Her eyes were dark, velvety green tonight. Her hair falling down her back in glossy waves. 

_ I love you. _

“I’ll never be as good a kisser as you,” he said.

“Probably not, but I’m a professional,” she joked. “And that’s alright. You don’t need to be the best kisser in all of Orsterra. But I’m sure there’s going to be a lovely girl out there who will want no one but you.”

His heart sank.

Primrose didn’t notice. She twirled a short lock of his hair around her index finger while her other hand drifted idly to his chest. Alfyn swallowed on air and glanced down on instinct, he could usually look at his boots for a moment to find a coherent thought. But with Prim perched astride him, all he saw was the rising slope of her cleavage that disappeared down her dress. 

His body tensed, split between wanting and longing, and without him realizing, the tension became tangible. Primrose blinked and chuckled, adjusting her hips and pressing against his growing arousal. 

“Just one kiss got you going, huh?” she teased him gently. “How sweet.”

Alfyn clumsily blurted, “One of the ladies at the Obsidian Parlor said virgins were her favorites.”

“Did she?” Primrose hummed, toying with the lapel of his tunic. “Well, I always liked virgins too. Most of them came to me because they wanted companionship. To feel a little less alone for a night.”

“But wouldn’t they feel worse later? B-Because… it was fake?”

Primrose met his gaze. “It may not have been an eternal love story, but that doesn’t mean it was fake. I made them feel cherished. I touched them when no one else would. The comfort they found in that was never a lie.”

_ Please comfort me. I miss home, I just want to hold you. _

He didn’t say a word, but somehow, Primrose could see his thoughts. Her expression softened and she kissed him again, slowly and softly. He kissed her back, trying to follow her instructions and match her movements. His hands squeezed at her hips again without realizing it, and Primrose moved her hand down his chest. Her touch drifted from his collarbone to his abdomen to the narrow space between them where she all too easily unbuttoned his britches.

“Would you like me to touch you?” Primrose asked, her voice a gossamer whisper in his ear, and every thought left Alfyn’s head except for one.

“Yes.”

Primrose’s hand was smooth and warm. She reached down and stroked the length of him. He shuddered and bit back a yelp of pleasure and surprise. Her palm wrapped around him so easily, and her fingers knew just how to pull back his foreskin and pet at the sensitive peak. She was going so slowly, and yet it still felt like everything was happening too quickly.

“P-Prim--” Alfyn gasped, unable to focus on anything that wasn’t the way she touched him now. 

“I know,” she chuckled in a low tone. She kissed his cheek slowly, sliding her grip all the way back down. “It feels good?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Good. I’m glad. You know, you’re really sweet, Alfie, and I think you spend too much time taking care of others,” as she spoke, she followed a gradual rhythm. Like the ocean’s tides, she drifted up… and down… up… and down… “It’s alright to need a little bit of care yourself.”

“Primrose, I…” he gasped again, hands clenched tightly around her hips. “I’m…”

He didn’t know what he was supposed to say. His eyes had fallen shut by now, and he was simply lost in her touch, her voice murmuring in his ear.

“You’re going to make a lovely young woman very happy someday,” she crooned. “Such a caring man, and so handsome too.”

“Yer beautiful--” he blurted, and Primrose laughed like a bell, giving his length a little squeeze as she did. He bit his bottom lip, trying not to make too much noise when he moaned.

“See? You’re so kind,” she sighed, circling the tip of her fingers around his glans, tracing the curves and dips of him. “I can’t believe no one has ever done this for you before. The girls in Clearbrook don’t know what they’re missing.”

_ I love you, I love you, I love you, I-- _

“Prim, I’m--!” he cut off his own thoughts with the sudden realization that the heat building in him was about to overflow.

She didn’t seem to mind. Without missing a beat, Primrose smiled against his cheek and tucked his now spent length back into his britches. He felt dazed and drunk, his head falling to rest in the crook of Prim’s shoulder. She deftly cleaned him up, putting all the buttons back into place and brushing his hair back with her fingers gently running over his scalp. 

“Mmmm… Feel good?” she asked him, rubbing his back with one hand.

“Y-Yeah,” Alfyn whispered. “That was…”

“Take your time with the words,” she chuckled. “I’ve heard it all before. I bet you’re tired, though, huh?”

“Yeah.” Was he really such an inexperienced sap that she could predict every single thing about him? ...Maybe.

“Get comfortable,” she shifted, climbing off of his lap and straightening out her skirt again. Alfyn laid back on the bed and looked up at her. Sable hair, velvet green eyes, the lift of her beauty mark when she smiled.

Alfyn reached out and took her hand, which seemed to be the one thing that took Primrose by surprise. She lifted an eyebrow at him.

“Will you lay down with me for a few minutes?” he asked.

Primrose sat on the edge of his bed. “...Alright.”

He liked the way she looked at him. It was like low candlelight. Soft around the edges, and something that only he could ever see in her. She didn’t look at Cyrus or Tressa or Therion or H’aanit like she looked at him. He doubted she even looked at any of her past clients in the same way,

She tucked a loose wave of hair behind his ear and settled in beside him. Without asking, Alfyn placed one arm around her middle, but Primrose didn’t move away. She laid on her back and smiled at him.

“Get some sleep, Alfyn.”

* * *

When he woke up in the morning, Alfyn found himself alone. He didn’t know when Primrose had left in the night. Part of him wondered if he had dreamt the whole thing. With a sigh, he pulled himself up and run a hand through his hair. 

Something felt… different. Something about  _ him _ was different. 

“I wonder if this was how you felt when you met Pa,” he mumbled under his breath. “Does love always feel like this, Ma?”

There was little time to think on it. Alfyn pulled on his green vest and slung his satchel over his shoulder. He yawned and stretched and slipped into his boots before he walked into the hall, pausing as he stared at the door across from his.

Was Primrose awake yet? Was she in her room? Should he say something to her?

Was she still here, today? Or would he find her empty and gone away again?

He decided against knocking and instead went downstairs. With a slight skip in his step, Alfyn went back out to the large marketsquare and found Tressa and her stones. He wondered if there would be any leftovers. Maybe Tressa would give him one and he could save up some more money to have it set into a necklace for Primrose.

“How’s business today, Tress?” he asked.

“Horrible!” Tressa practically wailed. Alfyn was snapped out of his daze when he looked at her and saw the harrowing look of shock and betrayal on her face. “I… I spent almost all my money, Alfyn… buying up moy skystones… and that… that… that PUNK is undercutting my prices!”

“What?!”

“Ali! That boy from yesterday’s got his own stock and he’s selling at JUST below my prices, so no one will buy from me, I’m doomed, Alfyn, I… What am I gonna do?! I invested so much into this--”

“Woah, slow down there kiddo,” he placed his hands on her shoulders and smiled, trying to help calm her down like Zeph did with Nina. “You’re not doomed! Everything will be ok, Tress, I promise. I’m sure we can figure something out. I’ll go get Prim and Cyrus and well figure out a plan, ok?”

She sniffled, on the edge of tears, but not breaking. “Ok… Ok. You’re right.”

Alfyn nodded. “Yeah, we’ll fix this. Don’t worry--” and he turned, preparing to head back to the inn. Hopefully Cyrus hadn’t left for the day yet and they could rally together to--

Before Alfyn could get to the door, a hand reached out from the alley and grabbed him. Alfyn yelped and recoiled, stumbling back and looking to see the very professor he was searching for, his hands covered in blood and his face pale.

“Alfyn… I need your help.”

“Cyrus?! What’s going on,” Alfyn began pulling out bandages, thinking that Cyrus was injured.

“It’s not my blood, Alfyn. There’s… There are people, I… I don’t… They’ve been using blood magic, Alfyn, please help me.”

Just yesterday they had arrived in a busy town in search of honest trade and a missing book.

It was strange, the way the world fell apart.


	7. Saintsbridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Saintsbridge, Alfyn starts to feel cold...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW THIS IS LONG OVERDUE.
> 
> Sorry, everyone, I've been very busy with other writing projects and the COVID situation, but to honor Octopath's 2nd anniversary, I wanted to work overtime to get this one out!
> 
> Things start getting serious in Saintsbridge, and not in a good way. I know I finally crossed over into the smut last chapter, but this chapter is instead full of feels and foreshadowing as we get closer to Prim's chapter 3.

Alfyn liked being back in the Riverlands.

He inhaled slowly, smelling soft green moss and wet river rocks and sunshine. Saintsbridge was the largest city in the area, and it was covered in green. Thick, soft grass grew alongside every cobbled path, public flower beds housed small trees and ferns, the river that flowed through the city and powered waterwheels was home to moss and weeds and fish that swam in and against the stream. It was beautiful here, and Alfyn was glad to be back where the world felt still and familiar.

He found it all the more relaxing with Primrose here. She’d never been in the Riverlands before, and slipping away unnoticed in the evenings to go walking with her made him feel as giddy as a spring hare.

“You look chipper,” Primrose commented as Alfyn smiled, the two of them meandering on a lamp-lit bridge. “Sleep well last night~?”

Alfyn had slept very well. He always slept well after one of her ‘lessons.’ That’s what she called them, _ lessons _ . Alfyn wasn’t sure what exactly she wanted him to learn whenever she slipped into his bedroll, but one thing became more and more certain in his heart every night that she touched him and kissed him and opened her legs.

_ I love you… _

“Heh, I guess you could say that,” Alfyn blushed and scratched at the back of his head.”What about you? Did you, uh… sleep well?”

He never knew if she did. Primrose always let him hold her afterwards, but he fell asleep quickly and she was always gone when he woke up.

“I slept fine, medicine man, no need to fret over me.”

A bird flew overhead, letting out a sweet song. A fish splashed in the water below. Primrose sighed, and his eyes stayed on her lips.

_ You’re supposed to be a healer, _ Alfyn mentally chastised himself.  _ You’ve lost all your focus, Alfyn! Because of a girl? _

A strand of sable brown fell into her face and Alfyn reached out to tuck it back behind her ear. As he did, Primrose canted her gaze towards him and smirked, her beauty mark tilting up with her lips. Her eyes were bright and green and present. He couldn’t remember exactly when she had last left. 

_ She’s worth it.  _

“Stop looking at me like that,” Primrose chuckled. “It’s the middle of the afternoon, and I’m waiting on Ophilia.”

Alfyn’s cheeks flushed and he shook his head. “N-Nah, nah, I… You’re just really pretty is all, Prim.”

“I know I am, Alfyn,” she chuckled a bit under her breath. It made him feel a bit foolish for saying that. Who knew how many men had called her pretty in her life.

“I was, uh… I was thinkin’,” Alfyn continued, nervously readjusting Zeph’s satchel strap over his shoulder. “Maybe t-tonight we could… go have some dinner? There’s this great lil’ place down the road from the inn, and there’s a regional dish I think you’d like there. I’ve been able to sell some fever herbs lately, so I can buy and--”

Primrose looked at him. “You’re sweet, but I’m not the dating type.”

Alfyn looked down at the water, the giddiness he’d felt a moment ago sank in his gut. “Right, right… I might be too busy anyway, heh… Saintsbridge’s a big city, there’s lotsa people who need doctorin’.”

“That’s good, you’ll have lots to do,” she agreed. “You’re good at healing people.”

Alfyn’s lips lifted up in a slight smile. Hearing her say that was nice. Even if she didn’t want to go on any dates, he felt warm.

Primrose’s hand slid over his arm, giving him a small squeeze. She leaned in and murmured, “Go do what you’re meant to do, Greengrass. You’ll be amazing.” And before he could say anything at all, she kissed his cheek and walked past him.

“Ophilia!” Prim called. Alfyn looked up and noticed the young priestess approaching from the other side of the long bridge. “Let’s go!”

Alfyn watched as Prim linked an arm with Ophilia, the two of them smiling and chuckling as they set off on whatever it was they were going to do here. He smiled to himself as they left, disappearing into the crowd. 

“Alright, Zeph,” he muttered to himself, patting his satchel. “Let’s go do what we’re meant to, huh?”

* * *

Alfyn felt cold. Everywhere, all over, just cold and numb and empty. Ice was creeping in through his veins and he kept staring at his hands as if they might have answers written between their calluses and creases. There was only blood, though…

He blinked and the blood was gone. Alfyn pressed the heels of his palms into her eyes, clenching his jaw and trying to pull himself together.

“Are you ok?”

The voice sounded far away for a moment, it took Alfyn a second to realize someone was talking to him. When he looked up he blinked, slowly registering the world around him and the woman in front of him. “...No,” his voice was low and hoarse, sounding more like a croaking frog than a man.

Primrose placed a hand on his shoulder and rubbed small circles there. “It’s alright,” she murmured, and for a moment, Alfyn felt like he could breathe again.

That’s all he wanted… for someone to tell him that it was going to be ok. That he hadn’t just stained his conscience for the rest of his life.

Then Primrose said, “He had it coming. You did the right thing.”

And Alfyn felt cold again. “What?”

“I know you’re the gentle sort, but its ok,” she said it again, coolly confident that she understood what was bothering him. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Miguel was a monster.”

Alfyn stood with a start, shrugging off her hand and stalked away. They were on the road outside of Saintsbridge now, there were trees everywhere for him to hide in. But they couldn’t stay in the city. Alfyn couldn’t, at least, not after what he’d done. He was just grateful that Ophilia was able to finish her flame ceremony before it had happened.

Staring out into the darkness of the forest, he could barrel ysee a thing. It was thick, dense shadows. There were trees and streams all over, if Alfyn walked too far, he’d run into something or fall into a ditch, and part of him wanted to. Maybe he deserved that, he felt a bit like he did.

While they had all fought people and beasts before, this time felt so different. Alfyn had never had to kill a man he had healed before. He’d never made a choice so horrible and ignorant and naive that a child had been inches away from a slit throat. It made him feel incompetent. Irresponsible. All the things Ogen had said he was…

What kind of healer put children in danger? What kind of healer gave a thief and murderer a second chance at life?

Alfyn hadn’t realized just how long he had been staring at the trees until he glanced to his side and found Olberic standing there. Stoic and quiet, watching the shadows as well. The watch rotation must have changed… Primrose was in her tent, no longer sitting by the fire.

He swallowed and looked down at his hands again. They didn’t look bloodstained this time, but Alfyn could still feel something crawling underneath his skin. Something cold and itchy.

“Does it ever get easier?” he asked out loud.

“Which part?” Olberic asked back, unmoving and calm.

“...Feeling like you made a bad decision.”

“Ah…” Olberic bowed his head and inhaled slowly. “The regret and guilt will never leave you, Alfyn… but do not let them be shackles on you. The past is not made of iron.”

Alfyn wasn’t so sure he understood this particular metaphor. It must be some Hornburgian thing. But to emphasize his point, Olberic wrapped his wide, heavy hands around Alfyn’s wrists and pulled him to attention, holding them together like handcuffs.

“Could you be an apothecary with your hands tied?” he asked sternly.

Alfyn shook his head.

“Then don’t let your mistakes keep you from what you can do,” Olberic concluded, letting go. He added, “Instead… carry your regrets like a book. One you can read from next time you find yourself in a difficult position. Let them teach you, not hold you down.”

Alfyn swallowed again, looking from his hands to Olberic’s face. Even in the dark, he looked like a proud, imposing figure. Of them all, Olberic was easily the most intimidating to look at, with how he carried himself and tended to frown. But he was a gentle man beneath it all. Someone who had learned from his own mourning…

“You’re a lot better at this than Prim is,” Alfyn whispered, without even realizing he’d said it.

Olberic grunted and looked back to the woods. “Mm. She cannot afford to have regrets, Alfyn… To look back at her own life would be a darkness that I don’t think anyone could truly come out of.”

Alfyn’s brows creased together. “What does that mean?”

“It’s not my place to say,” Olberic sighed. “I’m just familiar with the Azelhart name. I met her father once, a long time ago.”

“Oh…” Alfyn still didn’t know what that meant, but he didn’t have the wherewithal to pry. He turned back to the forest, looking out into the darkness and he wondered what the Gods did with people like him. 

Those strong enough to do something good but too stupid to make the right decisions.


End file.
